


The faces of my brothers

by indoissetep



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Finn's memories of the First Order, M/M, angst fest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-19
Updated: 2016-03-19
Packaged: 2018-05-27 18:08:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6294499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indoissetep/pseuds/indoissetep
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finn does not talk about the other boys in his fire-team. He does not like to think about them. About how, for twenty years, the four of them were no less than brothers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The faces of my brothers

**Author's Note:**

> There isn't enough Finn/Slip in the world, and that is a mistake that must be rectified.

Finn does not talk about the other boys in his fire-team.

He does not share the stories from his old life with anyone from his new life. Better to let the past be just that, let memories be just that.

So he evades questions and lets silences stretch whenever the topic comes up, and he keeps his thoughts and regrets and longings to himself.

He does not like to think about the other boys. About how, for twenty years, the four of them were no less than brothers, spending nearly every moment of every day together, memorizing every trait and quirk to the point where they could tell each other apart by the cadence of their footsteps alone.

He does not think about these things, because he fears that if he does he will no longer be able to do what needs to be done. That, the next time he has his blaster aimed at a stormtrooper, he will not be able to dissociate that white helmet from the face that might lie beneath it, that might be a familiar face. And, in that moment, he fears that his conviction and his hands will waver.

So he keeps it all to himself.

When he catches a glimpse of shocking red hair and blue eyes in the mess hall, his heart skips a couple of beats and the hands holding up his foodtray feel shaky. Poe gives him a quizzical look, but asks no questions, and Finn provides no answers.

He doesn’t tell Poe about the boy he new with that same alarming shade of hair and impossibly blue eyes. The boy whose pale skin would blossom into a confusion of freckles every time they were made to train out in the sun for too long. The boy whose smiles had come so easily in their childhood, but whose laughter turned mean and scathing as the years went by.

He doesn’t talk about the fistfight they got into when they were fifteen, an argument that had turned physical and left them both bruised and bloody. A fight that permanently deepened the divide between FN-2187 and FN-2199, only twelve numbers, but such a wide gap.

He doesn’t tell Poe that he had to fight that same boy again on Takodana. That he didn’t need the red of his hair, or the blue of his eyes, or a designation flashing at the corner of his vision to tell him who that was beneath the armor. He knew his voice, even through his helmet’s distortion, knew its inflection in that single word he spat out, and the hatred and betrayal behind it. But, above all, he knew the way the trooper moved, the set of his shoulders and the cadence of his steps. He would have known him anywhere.

Finn’s conviction did waver then. His movements were not as sure as they could have been, his blows not as swift or hard as they should have been, and his hesitation would have cost him his life if Han Solo hadn’t blasted the trooper away at the last moment.

He does not talk about any of that, doesn’t talk about the boy called Nines.

When Finn studies his lightsaber scar in the mirror, the long, perfectly straight line cutting his back in two, he tries not to think about the grave boy whose skin was even darker than his, who also had a scar, his a stroke across his cheek. After the accident that gave the boy that scar – an unheroic affair in which a faulty alternator blew up in his face – he spent a week with a stark bacta patch over half of his face and an expression that was even more somber than usual.

Finn doesn’t tell anyone about how he, Nines and Slip snuck into the kitchen to steal chocolate rations – a rare treat reserved for special occasions only – to surprise the boy with. That was the first time he smiled after the accident, though it clearly pained him to do so.

He doesn’t talk about the boy who was the first among them to claim a nickname for himself, proud of his straightforward designation, FN-2000. He was closely followed by FN-2199, Nines, who could not stand to be outdone for long. That same boy, when asked by FN-2003 what he should be called, suggested they nickname him Slip for his clumsiness. The newly-named Slip did not seem to resent the taunt, but instead just laughed along, glad to have a nom de guerre, too, to be one of them. And, in truth, FN-2187 didn’t think the boy’s teasing of Slip held any real venom. Not then, not until much later.

Finn does not talk about how he fears he might still have to face this boy in battle some day. He does not talk about the boy called Zeroes.

But, above all, Finn does not talk about the boy called Slip.

He does not talk about the small, frail boy who held tightly onto his hand when they were both no more than five. And how FN-2187 had needed the reassurance of that touch just as much as the other boy did.

He does not talk about the boy who was constantly being lectured for not paying attention during their instruction because he was too busy tapping his foot, drumming his fingers against his desk and humming under his breath. That same boy would break into song as they performed one of their boring, repetitive tasks, and the songs he sang were the ones he had heard on the officers’ private network, the one FN-2187 had hacked into for him.

Finn does not talk – and he tries so hard not to think – about how sweet and gentle his voice was, so out of place amongst the betaplast and durasteel.

He does not tell anyone, not Poe nor Rey, about all the times Slip sneaked into Eight-seven’s bunk after lights-out. Both of them seeking the comfort of a warm body to curl against through the cold Starkiller nights. Perfectly innocent, up until the point when it was not.

He won’t tell them about how he kissed Slip more often and more intimately than he did any of the other boys and girls in their unit. How it meant something entirely different with him, something more than just two hormonal teenagers chasing release.

He does not talk about his growing concern and heartache as he watched Slip struggle more and more each day. As he watched Slip compensate for his shortcomings by shouting louder than anyone else during their morale sessions, by spouting the First Order’s teachings with increased fervor.

It is hardest not to think about how he tried to convince – almost begged – Slip to run away with him. About how he thought that, certainly, after all the pain and humiliation the other boy had been put through his entire life, he would want to get away from the First Order as much as FN-2187 did.

He was wrong.

Finn does not think about the way Slip looked at him then, with eyes full of disappointment and disgust. He does not dwell on the other boy’s – man’s – last words to him.

“I won’t report you to our superiors. I can’t. But you’re out of your mind, Eight-seven. There’s something wrong with you.”

In his most unguarded moments, Finn does not think about Slip’s eyes, which were neither blue nor green, but something in between.

And, above all, he does not wish he could see those eyes again.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments are always appreciated!
> 
> Also, you should definitely come talk to me about Finn/Slip on Tumblr @indoissetep.


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